


Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy

by VulcanicEruption



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angel Castiel, Angel/Demon Relationship, Blood, Blow Jobs, Demon Dean, Demon Dean Winchester, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Rimming, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-02-10 20:05:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2038314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VulcanicEruption/pseuds/VulcanicEruption
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Hey boy, where did you get it from?</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Hey boy, where did you go?</i>
  <br/>
  <i>I learned my passion in the good old-fashioned school of loverboys.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Said "Fuck, the Demon," Not "Fuck the Demon." This Is Why Commas Are Important.

**Author's Note:**

> An extension and revision of a previous work. Inspired by [this](http://crossroadscastiel.tumblr.com/post/86377119022/no-but-demon-dean-being-all-filthy-mouthed-and) post. Edited by me, all mistakes are my own. Feedback welcomed.

Dean is strapped into a chair and he can’t stop talking.

It isn’t as deranged as it sounds. He’s still flying on the high of rising from the dead, days after Sam found him black-eyed and bastardized.

Dean remembers it vaguely beneath the cocktail drug of demon blood, recalls Sam letting out a choking gasp of air as he barged into the room. Dean blinked open his eyes, took in the room, took in Crowley, took in the slam of the door as the moose galloped in. That was when he sat up, crawled like an animal from the bed, and stared at his brother with a gaping expression.

Fifty years had passed between life, death, and life; fifty years had been compressed into those long minutes that he’d been torn down and stripped bare and flayed open in the fires of hell.

When his eyes flicked open, he didn’t realize what ceiling it was that he was staring at, not at first, not with the delirious demon blood drugging his flesh and bone. He was strung out on demonism on the subatomic level, high off of a transformation that his soul couldn’t handle. No wonder Sam got hooked - the stuff was horrible, the stuff was incredible, and Dean was pushed further than Sam had ever been. The stuff was in every fiber of his being.

The high never faded and the power beat its wings madly in his chest, pushing to let himself explode. He couldn’t focus on much more than the relentless thrum of energy through his body, even with vials of blood being filled just feet away from him. He couldn’t remember what Cas or Sam looked like when they first saw him, saw the way he was now. It would’ve bothered him if he wasn’t out of his fucking mind.

Now he sees Cas standing in front of him with a stony expression. It’s the first time that Castiel has gotten close to looking him in the eye, perhaps because Dean’s afraid on some level to let his eyes fade from black to hazel green. Perhaps because on the surface the demon is reckless, ravenous, his primal instincts telling him to shred apart this celestial creature.

Finally he does let the black film slide away. He recognizes Cas and Sam by now, but they’ve never seemed more distant. The slick of crusted-over emotion, though, it’s there still, it’s creeping up his burnt-out soul and reaching for light. It’s the only thing in this ecstasy that bothers him, so Dean lets it out in the hopes that he’ll expel it for good.

The angel is staring at him.

Even now, the sight of the grand angel makes his skin sensitive. He’d never let himself notice it before, but now it’s the only sensation left to grab his attention and it’s the only thing that stands out in the haze. It doesn’t mean much, but it gives him something to do, makes his crotch a tad warm, and he relents to the twisted pleasure. “You miss me, angel?” he says, putting on a sweet wide smile that he knows makes Castiel die inside. “I sure missed you.”

There’s a muscle in Castiel’s face that twitches when he says that. Dean grins wider, barks out a laugh, and reclines in his seat. Beneath the wing beats of power, the old, creeping tension takes hold at the base of his throat, and he’s dying to release it into the ether. “I thought about you on the way down,” he croons. His voice is a low, exaggerated purr that drifts toward the angel.

The only noise that comes out of Castiel is a soft and breathy hiss.

* * *

 

That little snarl in his voice is what reminds Cas that, somewhere deeply buried, is Dean Winchester, complete with sardonic wit and a cocky attitude. It’s what’s most painful about this business.

“Oh, yes,” Dean says, “all the long way down. It surprised me. In the back of the Impala. My own personal highway to hell. Spreading you back against the seat in your tie and trenchcoat, your huge puppy-dog eyes on me. Having the comet himself just like putty in my hands, rock-solid and afraid of me? Pretty damn nice introduction to this whole thing.

“Only a fantasy, but, then, so it goes.”

It should be easier for a being his age to harden himself, but then, he always did care too much. Castiel can hear Sam pouring the vials behind him, and he feels ridiculously guilty about it -- he hates the sound of the demon’s voice purporting to be Dean Winchester, but he hates the noise of the blood even more. It might not even work, it might kill him, it might make him stronger … Even though hearing Dean’s voice hurts like a bitch, it’s still safe and familiar. And it’s sweet, sonorous, subversive, burrowing under his skin.

* * *

 

Cas is stiff and Sam is still, hunched over several feet away by the supplies. Sam turns his face only slightly to look over at them, and seems to freeze, and Dean can hear Sam’s blood heat and heart speed up at the direction this one-sided conversation is taking. So Dean drives on, letting his head loll back, eyes laughing up at them.

“I thought about you all the time, you know, before. It was a nice little secret to keep me warm in bed. You were nice. In the sweet, violent way, fit for any fantasy, I mean, hell. When I wasn’t under the covers in the motel alone, stroking the little one-eyed snake, thinking about bending over your body and stripping off the coat and slitting my lips into your mouth and slipping a hand into your pants, I had a hard-on for your hands on me against the mattress or against the car. Cupping each cheek and sliding yourself all over the place until I was jumping out of my skin and you finally started plowing into me with no warning until I was all squealy and helpless and filling up with that holy grace you carry around inside that big angel blade of yours … Yeah, I had fantasies like that. A little secret for myself.”

Sam’s face is growing positively red. Dean smiles even more broadly and looks straight up at Cas, licking his lips. “And I wanted your little tongue circling my _anus_ , Cas, yeah, burrowing in and sliding out and sliding down my balls and up my dick so I didn’t know what would come next. I was as much excited about the idea of your fucking face, your jaw spreading open over my cock as I was about the feeling of it everywhere. I wanted you everywhere, Cas, and you didn’t even know?” He chuckles. “You can’t tell me you didn’t even know.”

“Dean, stop,” Castiel says, walking close to the chair and shooting Dean a furious look with his nostrils flared.

There was a slam of the door as Sam left the dungeon, rattling the hinges of the place with the force of his exit.

“Why? Give me this one little kick, Cas,” Dean replies. His eyes are Disney-princess-wide now, a pretty little smile on his lips. They’re still as green as ever, and it’s killing Cas, it’s really killing him now. “There’s nothing I can do to you, as much as I’d like to … unzip my pants, or have you unzip them, let’s go with that, you give me a handjob and then just swallow me fucking whole with your lips all over my body. I’m harmless.”

Castiel’s breath catches, and he shakes his head, walks over to the supplies. A second later he’s got a syringe in his hand and a shadow over his face, and he walks over to Dean and lets his hand hover over the demon’s exposed skin.

“We can go back to the way things were,” Dean purrs. “I know you don’t want to.”

There’s authentic anguish written all over Cas’s face. It’s delicious because Dean can see the angel’s face flush red, pants straining. And it gives him a happy sort of shiver all over that he can’t quite explain, makes the ecstasy flow faster. “I know you’d go back to the way things were in a heartbeat ‘cause I’m a stranger now, but you want this so badly that you’re thinking it, you’re thinking about setting the needle down and sticking your hand in for one ride around the sun, just one. And then it’ll be over and I can be human again and we can all be saved, but you had this little stint in the devil’s trap to show you what living’s really like.”

Cas’s breath is ragged, jagged, if Dean had to pick a word for it. Like it was walking a razor’s edge between these two possibilities. His rough lips part and close again, twice, the needle still hovering over Dean’s skin. And as much as it surprises him, he knows the angel’s really thinking it: he’s had no reason in millennia to do something like this, but now there’s almost nothing left, and who knows if Dean will be the same when he’s human again? _Your one chance, Cas._  Dean laughs aloud in the angel’s face.

Cas is physically trembling now, and even from this distance Dean can practically sense Sam’s raging discomfort in his attempt not to listen. When Cas looks down and Dean finally catches him directly in the eye he can see the angel grace swirling just beneath the skin. It’s not as overt as he thought it would be. Still Cas, still his (well, Jimmy’s) face, just stretched over an extra dosage of celestial light. It was spectacular, if you were into that sort of thing.

Wait - there it was, a shiver, a hesitation - almost, almost …

… and Cas drops the syringe on his way to plunge it in, grabs Dean’s arm, and then before Dean’s prepared for the sensation he can feel the angel’s other hand on the fly of his jeans. Castiel's hands pick delicately at the button and the zipper and curl around Dean’s erection. The angel still looks petrified, furious, and somehow elated, but he can manage enough composure to blurt out, “You’re … going commando.”

“There are no tighty-whiteys in hell,” Dean crows back, and shoots Cas a wolfish smile. He has him. He realizes it, he has him, has him wrapped around his fingers, has him wrapped around his dick almost helplessly. Like it was the inevitable choice. That’s the way it feels, when Cas starts jerking from the middle and smoothing his perfect fucking hands over the penis.

_Hah. Perfect fucking hands,_ Dean thinks, chuckles almost deliriously. He doesn’t quite realize he’s saying it aloud, because he’s still watching Cas’s face with sadistic glee. “Perfect, _fucking_ hands.”

Cas glances into his face, looking half-affronted and half-aroused, and Dean takes the chance to let his eyes fill into black and grin even wider. That’s when Cas’s throat does a hot little growling thing deep in its base, and he twitches, leans imperceptibly closer. Cas is hating himself. Dean feels warm and fuzzy when he thinks about that, he really does. The angel’s so fucking gratified and he fucking hates himself right now, it’s written all over his face.

So when the angel ducks forward and plants his mouth on Dean’s, Dean sees it coming from a mile away: the angel giving in. Hot and moist, slipping their lips over and under and rolling their writhing tongues over each other in the cavern. Dean’s straining against the chair until it tilts forward, and Cas is just … he’s giving in, he’s fucking dominating and it’s so fucking kinky and Dean’s just pulsing with the sick euphoria. Cas keeps going with his hand and reaches up with the other, sliding it over the back of Dean’s head and bringing him in closer. He’s half-leaning in the chair now, on top of Dean.

Then his face pulls back at once and his left hand leaves; Dean’s already on the edge and he isn’t even half a handjob through this. There’s this twisted pleasure on Castiel’s face, no more fear there that Dean can see, the lips pulled into a cocky tilt.

Cas stares at Dean. Dean looks ravenous.

If he didn’t know better Dean’d think that Cas was about to laugh, but he steps back off the chair and zips up Dean’s pants, buttons them up and snatches the syringe from the floor. Dean’s about ready to topple the chair over and he’s not sure whether he wants to rip the angel’s throat out or, well, rip his pants off.

Both, both is good. 

Both at the same time.


	2. Write My Letter

Cas taps the vial with one finger, looking at Dean with that skewed little barely-there smile. His blue eyes roam over Dean’s outstretched body and he steps back to the chair. 

His fingers jump up the length of the syringe and he darts forward before Dean can move his arm, moves to plunge it into his bare skin.

He lets it prick the surface as Dean jerks himself away, fuming. Cas is plucking the needle back out, trailing it down the length of Dean’s arm, and then flicking it up to scratch the surface of Dean’s chin. Cas's face contorts into a snarl, and Dean bares his teeth and stares with huge black eyes. He roars, still breathing heavily: "What was the  _point of that?"_

He’s thrashing, straining, and then all at once he freezes: Castiel places his hands on the zipper, deliberately pulling it down and undoing the button.

Dean’s watching Cas part his lips, slip his tongue out slowly, rest the tip on the glans. Cas draws himself forward and flicks it around for a split second, and that’s all Dean needs to release another echoing, agonizing grunt. The angel opens his mouth and strokes his tongue down the shaft, licks it like a cat with those perfect lips of his, before finally taking the penis in his mouth whole.

If Dean could, he’d snarl his fingers in Castiel’s hair and yank the angel’s head forward and let him gag for mercy. As it was Dean was helpless in the chair and tense everywhere. Hell had nothing on this man, God help him. Fuck.

The angel sucked and stroked in an easy rhythm, and Dean’s scope narrowed to that point as the rest of the room fell away.

Castiel leaned back and and took his lips away. The blast of cold air sent a shudder through Dean, a guttural growl escaped his mouth and he shivered ever so slightly. He felt Cas’s hands on his head, breath on his cheek, petting. A gust of air on his temple. “ _Relax_ ,” the angel was whispering. Dean was almost whimpering. God, fuck him, Dean thought, hovering on helplessness and tilting into submission.

He was starting to get how it must feel to be a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent, millions of years old, who fell like a puppy at a mortal man’s feet. He was starting to understand how humiliating it would be to fall in love and fall in line with this resilient relentless man. Being taunted and strapped down did put things in perspective … It hit him what that kind of infantile helplessness truly felt like, not unlike being told by some guy millions of years your junior that you were just a “baby in a trenchcoat.”

The angel ducks back down over his dick and goes for the gold, sucking until crazy, cheesy little supernovas are exploding in the demon’s brain, until the ungodly noises he’s making reach Sam’s innocent ears on the other side of the door. Cas sucks just short of orgasm because he couldn’t make things easy, not after he’s already crossed ten lines too many. He stops again and makes a show of slipping his lips off of the cock, smiling broadly for the first time in recent memory up at Dean’s black eyes. It's a dead smile.

And then he’s up, slipping off his trenchcoat, letting it fall in a heap on the floor. Crawling up Dean’s lap, pressing himself on top of him, letting his lips graze Dean’s cheekbone while the angel’s betrousered crotch is riding Dean’s hips. 

Cas rolls his hips over Dean’s cock, taunting, making him pay for all this. He’s letting it sit there while Dean’s on the edge, straining, practically screaming and rocking around in that flimsy fucking chair of his. God. “Cas,” he chokes out, “that’s what I’m talking about.”

The angel’s lips are on his again, biting. Snarling, “Stop. Talking.”

The pressure alone is almost enough to get Dean back to that plane of pure bliss, with the tent in the angel’s trousers massaging the base of his dick. His hands are twisting and groping helplessly in their restraints like the rest of his body while this angel’s riding him, just callously, just using his dick to get a little light pleasure of his own. It’s fucking sick, fucking torture.

Dean finds himself smiling, tip of his tongue peeking out between his teeth. His eyes are dilated. Cas's lips pull away, and he’s hearing the angel’s words again in his ear, just above the tantalizing rhythm of his rocking hips. It’s a threat: “Relax,” the angel whispers, smoothing his hands over Dean’s arms.

Cas rolls his hips, rolls them over and over again over Dean, the first signs of pleasure crossing over his face, and it makes Dean's chest tighten a little. He's never seen him like this. Looking down through half-lidded eyes, letting a sigh pass through his lips. Taking his own words to heart.  _Relax._

The tightness in his muscles melts away, melts into Dean. 

 He's fused on top of Dean's chest, they're both gasping for air and rocking in unison. Dean's legs curl up over his back, crossing, pressing him closer, and Cas sucks the line of his jaw, the vein popping in his neck, his shoulder blade. 

Dean feels absolutely vacant, then, when Cas jumps away again. And angry. Absolutely angry.

Though to be honest, that's been the majority of his moods since his change.


	3. I Can Dim the Lights

Castiel sweeps away the locks and chains and stands over Dean, looking all the manner of celestial warrior.

Dean doesn’t wait for shock to set in as the cold metal lifts from his skin; he’s already up on his feet, looking Cas in the eye, letting that ravenous grin take over his face as they stand an inch apart. It’s Cas who first closes the gap: he ducks forward to grab Dean’s shirt collar, but it's Dean who completes the magnetic pull when he snatches at that cobalt-blue tie. Dean pulls him forward and Cas lets himself be pulled, to the demon who’s clawing his coat and hair and sucking at his face with those plump pink lips.

Dean is untangling the tie while Cas grabs at Dean's coat, strips it off, and then strips off his own. Both fall to the floor in quick succession; then the shirts themselves begin to go, unbuttoned one at a time by a devil who’s been hungry for nigh fifty years. Cas ensnares Dean’s fingers in his, pushes them away from his chest and his half-buttoned shirt.

Dean pushes forward and unfurls his tongue, slides it along the length of the angel's jawline. He’s working at the shirt again, all the while licking and sucking the angel’s face in a pulsating rhythm. The angel’s hands are gripping, caressing his biceps, the curve of his shoulders.

The final button pops off of his shirt. It only flaps for a moment before Dean is snatching at it again, and Castiel finally pushes him back, to the boundary of the devil’s trap. Cas peels off his last layer, shoots a hard look at Dean as he stands naked from the waist up. The wrong half, Dean thinks. He reaches back to peel off his own, and flings it with one arm across the room.

“That’s better,” the angel says, deep-voiced and somber-faced, like this is a fucking job interview. Or an interrogation. If Dean has another thought, it’s gone by the time that Cas comes closer and presses against him again, this time wrapping his sturdy arms around his waist. There's even more power in his attitude this time, as if he knows just how much Dean is in the palm of his hand as he is in Dean's. There's this haughty look on his face, almost the same expression Cas wore when he was prevailing in combat or torturing an enemy. He snakes his hands into Dean’s jeans to feel up his ass, relishing the heat of the demon’s skin against his arms and hands and chest, the brush of their cocks through layers of clothing.

It's so surprisingly tender, such a gentle moment between these monsters. Just a split second or two of skin pressed against skin and nothing else, nothing but their pulsating energies in stark contrast. 

Cas likes this zen-like state, this almost meditative vacancy of his mind, every way more potent and delicious than drinking ten liquor stores. He’s drinking the demon into his lips. Sipping the elixir of life and death, if you will, suspended in nothing but the hungry pull of limbs and teeth. He lets Dean pull at his trousers, unzip them and slip them down, pull at his boxers to trace the hard-on underneath. So Castiel jerks his chin up in the demon’s face, cocks his head, lets a smile play at the corners of his lips.

He kicks off his boots, and with barely a nod Dean kicks off his own, slipping out of his jeans. They finally get a good look at the whole of each other in their meatsuits, and the light and darkness swirling just beneath, and it’s euphoric.


	4. We Can Do the Tango Just For Two

Cas can feel the heat radiating from Dean's skin from a good few feet away.

Dean prowls toward him in quick strides, before Cas can make the next move himself: he's too transfixed. Smooth, bulging biceps, curve of the thigh, hipbones that could cut iron. Cas's erection is throbbing just looking at him, and he can't help himself, he starts jerking off and his breath catches in his throat in sharp bursts.

Dean's made his way back to the center of the devil's trap, over to Cas, and Dean is raking one lazy hand through Cas's dark hair while using the other to curl Cas's hands away from his crotch. He replaces it with his own, jerking slowly and building momentum, pressing close to Cas again and gyrating ever so slightly. He's leaning over to suck hungrily at his lips. Castiel leans into it, cupping his hands around the demon's ass and pulling himself forward. 

God, his chest. Castiel's breath is getting quicker and he's trailing hot kisses down his neck, down to the gorgeous fucking chest that looks fresh and slick just for him. There's a short, loud _thunk_ against the wall outside; he can practically see Sam's head slam against the wall as he tries not to listen, tries to figure out what to do. This thought flies out of Cas's head pretty quickly, mind. 

Dean's hands are nimble, spidery, strong, dancing around him faster than he can think. He can't think. Obviously. They're grabbing at him and digging into him and molding around him, letting him melt, God, would it be sacrilegious to say His name in this context? Follow-up: does it fucking matter at this point, with a demon jerking him off? No, but Cas's mind is all over the place right now - it's nowhere, actually. In the black-green eyes of this asshole making him feel these things. 

Dean's getting rougher, biting, but it's still much tamer than what Cas expected ... not that he had been, ahem, expecting anything ... uh ... 

"Oh God," he finally gasps. Short, sharp bursts of breath. "Oh, oh God ..."

"That's right," the demon grins, biting into his shoulder, making it bleed. He's playing with him, making his eyes go from green to black and back again every so often and looking Cas straight in the eye. Castiel's own blue ones stare back for as long as he can, before they seal shut again and his lips part open. 

"D-Dean ... Dean ..." Cas gasps, pulling back a little and resting his head on his chest. Dean, of course, he's clutching his hair and jerking his head up again, but Cas is practically immobile. "Dean, I can't do this." 

Dean, with hair in one fist, penis in the other, thinks this over and taps on the nerve he knew he could count on. "Sure. But, you know ..."

"Don't."

"If in five years I never once gave you a kiss, fucked you over a bed, what makes you think I'll do it later? Do it after?" He smiles as he says this, smiles over the top of Cas's head, still jerking slowly now. "You know this is your only chance, I mean ..."

"And it's yours," Cas finally says.

"Mmm ..." 

"Your only chance to get anything out of me. Right? You don't have anything after this."

"Aw, Cas," he wheedles. "Don't be like that. You know I got a--"

  
"A long list of anonymous men and women who might share with you one night of sin," he replies, "but nothing like this." 

  
"I don't know about that. Hm." 

"No, you ... you're trapped." He smiles. He smiles an actual smile, spreading across his face, and turns his chin up to look at Dean. "Completely. The chains are off, but you're still our toy. You have nothing here, you can't manipulate yourself into any position of power."

Dean's expression turns sour, and he looks down his nose at the angel who's smiling up at him. Cas is caressing his butt cheeks slowly, and in rebuke Dean quickens up his hand again around the shaft. Cas still smiles; there's vigor in his eyes, and he grinds his hips into the motion, taunting him. The angel wears a defiant expression as he bends forward, kisses his ear, bites it gently and whispers, "You're stuck." And then he's out, away, stepping out of the devil's trap towards his trousers abandoned on the floor. He slips them on and grabs the trench coat, buttons it up, relishes the exasperated, disgusted, devilish look on the demon's face. 

Sam starts and scrambles to his feet when Cas leaves, slamming the door shut behind him. He's pacing down the hall in bare feet, looking sweaty and invigorated for reasons Sam's been trying not to think about for the past hour. Has it been an hour? It sure feels like an hour, but then, time slows to a crawl when you're trying to scrub your brain clean of traumatic experiences. Sure, Sam could've barged in and jabbed a needle into his demon fuckbrother, but that would involve seeing ... Aaahhh, fuck, that mental image made him want to cauterize his eyeballs. Jesus, fuck. What were you supposed to do when the angel and the demon were getting it on in the dungeon? God, it sounded like the worst porno on the planet. 

Cas comes back about five minutes later with a huge tube in his hands that he's not even trying to hide, a tube that at first looks like shampoo until Sam comes to his senses. He shudders visibly a few times, but Cas does not seem to notice. 

Cas barges back in and seals the doors shut, tosses the lube into the devil's trap where it clatters on the concrete. "That's for you."

"How kind of you," Dean spits, still naked, standing there with his arms crossed. Still erect. His hair is standing up, like he'd ran his hands through it. It was, um, pretty attractive, Cas had to admit to himself. Nah, it was the kind of ball-bustingly hot small detail that drove him nuts. 

"You found my drawer?" 

"It's, ah, mine."

"Wonderful. What, d'you get them at Cosco? It looks like you're trying to fuck a horse, Cas."

"Bestiality is not on my list ..."

"So you have a list." 

Cas slips off his pants, coat, nude again, and walks back into the devil's trap. Dean looks at him, doesn't move. He looks ready to pounce, but instead stays there, staring unflinching at the angel. He presses the issue again, in a way that's surprisingly civil. "So, we're doing this?"

"What, you're asking for consent now?" Cas says, walking over, wrapping one hand around the back of his head. Pulling him closer.

Even if he's pissed, it's fucking hypnotic, and Dean lets himself be pulled as much as he wants to rip this guy apart. In both the literal and figurative sense, actually - funny how that worked. There was the one, brutal, psychotic part of him, sure ... but there was the other that stared, black-eyed, at those fucking hip bones, those hips, that ...

"I never violated you, Cas," Dean whispers, low, almost a growl. "And you're, well, you're the one that caved in and sucked me. I was helpless."

Castiel just laughs at that, a quick, rough burst. "Huh. Helpless. You haven't been truly helpless yet. You're going to get on your knees and ..."

"Hold up. I'm not taking orders," Dean barks; they're both pressing closer until they're dick to dick, lips inches apart. He has the lube in his hands and he's squeezing some out, reaching out to slick both of their penises and massage them into high heaven. So to speak. "You're going to let me suck you into fucking oblivion, and let me finger you, fist you, got it, let ..."

"You're sure you're ready for this?" Cas says between kisses, losing himself for a few moments in that fold of hot skin and starburst of pleasure. He's obviously taunting him again, even though he's one of the virginest non-virgins Dean'd ever met. And non-virgin, that is, by only a margin. 

Nevertheless, Dean gives him that sick, dead smile, and doesn't reply. He's been left standing in the cold often enough by this point--there's no fucking way he's letting Cas slip through his fingers now. So Dean jerks them back into that heavenly state that'd been so rudely interrupted, relishes the heat and physical sensation, ducks his head forward and presses its side against Cas's in a gesture that's surprisingly snuggly. Until, of course, he draws more blood with his teeth against Cas's neck, knowing he can take as much as he wants. 

Then, very aware that Cas still has both hands on his ass, he mutters: "You got those glued on my cheeks, or what?"

"They're nice," Cas replies, "supple." And somehow he makes it sound so fucking dirty, the way he breathes it into Dean's ear, gasps it like a swear. 

"Well get them busy." 

Castiel grins wolfishly, slicks his fingers on the lube while the two of them grind together, and slips them down between the cheeks. They're dancing down to his asshole; he circles the anal opening, enticing. Dean's making him bleed from the neck and shoulder, licking it down his chest, kissing him and giving glimpses of bloodstained teeth. His eyes go black again. Cas slides his fingers in and out, reaches over with one hand to replenish the lube, and slides them in deeper. Sliding, circling, sliding in again until his entire two fingers are up tight in Dean's ass. They're pushing hard against each other, all gyrating hips and open wounds gushing blood, and Castiel's eyes are laughing again. "Who is fingering who, again?" 

Dean pushes harder at that, bites deeper into his neck; it's Cas who shoves them both down on the cold ground. "Lie down on your stomach," he snarls. 

Dean only smirks, then obeys.

He can feel Cas's scruff brush against his cheeks, and then the angel brings his tongue near the hole and swirls it around. He flicks it against it, changing speeds, pressures, and slips one, then two fingers in again. Dean can't help letting out a little _Mmmmmmm_ , shifting against Cas. 

His fingers curl up against the prostate, and he gets another, louder, involuntary cry from Dean that makes him absolutely preen. Dean's teeth sink deeper, dripping blood, and his animalistic grunts turn to animalistic groans.

Castiel sticks more fingers in, and Dean's thrusting against his fist. Finally: "Get on your knees."

Cas squirts himself more lube and Dean gets on his hands and knees. Then Cas is inside of him, and he's rocking his hips against him while Cas is thrusting. Cas groans against the tightness around his cock, while Dean groans as it brushes against his prostate. Then the pressure really gets going against his prostate, and as fucking cliche as it is sparks are literally flying before his eyes, and Cas keeps thrusting, thrusting, thrusting, thrusting. 

Cas can hear Dean's frantic breathing, and he's relishing in it. "I want you to scream." 

"Oh, baby that ain't happening." Just as the words are stumbling out of his mouth he gasps again, groans, and then, finally, lets out a low growl. 

"That's right," Cas sighs, and he thrusts harder. Dean beneath him, his groans growing in a gorgeous crescendo until he releases a beautiful scream. 

Outside, Sam buries his head in his hands. "Oh. My. God. Jesus, help me." 

Inside Dean keeps screaming, because Cas won't stop, and it's, oh, God ... there's no demon, no angel, in that moment as his body spasms, as he orgasms. 

Cas comes inside him and lets out his own moans of delight. 

 

* * *

 

"What? What are you talking about? Are you nuts?" Sam's already storming towards the vials, and Cas cuts him off. 

"Pragmatic. Sam, we can't. Not today."

"This is — so, so wrong, Cas, what's gotten into you? This isn't you. Knock it off and we can get this over with."

"This is me. Sound mind."

"What did he say to you? What did he _do_ to you?" Sam asks, spreading his arms apart, and then adds, "On second thought, don't answer that."

"Nothing," Cas replies. "I'm being realistic. He's too worn out today."

"That's impossible and you are —" 

"No, listen —"

"You are full of bullshit right now! Okay? I don't know what the fuck is wrong with you, but you're full of it."

"Sam, we became intimate and it took a lot out of him, I —" 

"Okay, stop." Sam's wiping the sweat off of his forehead, and he can barely look at Cas, who himself is still damp with sweat head to toe. "Just stop. We'll talk about this later."

"Good." Cas picks up the vials, slips them in his coat pocket. "And we'll do this tomorrow."


End file.
